'Oh no,' cried Mrs. Brown-Smith, with impetuous kindness, 'not on a night like this; it is a cataclysm. There will be plenty of room for the cook as well as for Methven and me, and the Vidame, in the brougham. Or _he_ can sit on the box.' The Vidame really behaved very well. The introduction of the cook, to quote an old novelist, 'had formed no part of his profligate scheme of pleasure.' To elope from a hospitable roof, with a married lady, accompanied by her maid, might be an act not without precedent. But that a cook should come to form _une partie carree_, on such an occasion, that a lover should be squeezed with three women in a brougham, was a trying novelty. The Vidame smiled, 'An artist so excellent,' he said, 'deserves a far greater sacrifice.' So it was arranged. After a tender and solitary five minutes with Matilda, the Vidame stepped, last, into the brougham. The coachman whipped up the horses, Matilda waved her kerchief from the porch, the guilty lovers drove away. Presently Mrs. Malory received, from her daughter's maid, the letter destined by the Vidame for Matilda. Mrs. Malory locked it up in her despatch box. The runaways, after a warm and uncomfortable drive of three-quarters of an hour, during which the cook wept bitterly and was very unwell, reached the station. Contrary to the Vidame's wish, Mrs. Brown-Smith, in an ulster and a veil, insisted on perambulating the platform, buying the whole of Mr. Hall Caine's works as far as they exist in sixpenny editions. Bells rang, porters stationed themselves in a line, like fielders, a train arrived, the 9.17 from Liverpool, twenty minutes late. A short stout gentleman emerged from a smoking carriage, Mrs. Brown-Smith, starting from the Vidame's side, raised her veil, and threw her arms round the neck of the traveller. 'You didn't expect _me_ to meet you on such a night, did you, Johnnie?' she cried with a break in her voice. 'Awfully glad to see you, Tiny,' said the short gentleman. 'On such a night!' After thus unconsciously quoting the _Merchant of Venice_, Mr. Brown-Smith turned to his valet. 'Don't forget the fishing-rods,' he said. 'I took the opportunity of driving over with a gentleman from Upwold,' said Mrs. Brown-Smith. 'Let me introduce him. Methven,' to her maid, 'where is the Vidame de la Lain?' 'I heard him say that he must help Mrs. Andrews, the cook, to find a seat, Ma'am,' said the maid. 'He really _is_ kind,' said Mrs. Brown-Smith, 'but I fear we can't wait to say good-bye to him.' Three-quarters of an hour later, Mr. Brown-Smith and his wife were at supper at Upwold. Next day, as the cook's departure had postponed the shooting party, they took leave of their hostess, and returned to their moors in Perthshire.